


A Thing

by glacis



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the memory charm rebounds, and before he's carted off, Lockhart convinces Snape that they have ... a Thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thing

A Thing, by seeker.  Quotes from HP&amp;tCoS pg. 217-8, and 244 - one quote out of context for story's sake.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; 

The man had been getting up Snape's nose all year. Not an inconsiderable task given the dimensions of Snape's nose. When young Ginny Weasley was taken, and Lockhart bumbled in with his usual stupidity and idiot grin, Snape snapped.

"Just the man," he said. "The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

Lockhart turned pasty white as the rest of the faculty jumped on the bandwagon, throwing the git's own words back at him in an effort to get him out of the way so the school could go into lockdown, the only option left to keep the students safe. He babbled and backtracked, of course, but again Snape attacked.

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said Snape. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

McGonagall backed him up, and Lockhart was routed. Snape smiled nastily. Inside, where such an expression -- the smile, not the nasty edge to it -- wouldn't ruin his reputation.

Then, of course, in the grand Potter tradition, Harry and his friends bollixed things up royally and, more through blind dumb luck and being too bloody foolish to be frightened, saved the world. Again. The only bright spots Snape could see were that the idiot boy didn't get himself killed -- a mixed blessing -- and when Lockhart flung his Memory Charm, it rebounded.

There was something satisfying about seeing Lockhart gazing vacuously around the infirmary, smiling vacantly. The inner fool finally on show for all the world to see. Pomfrey flitted around him, caught between ministering and laughing out loud. Snape handed her the easing potion he'd brewed for the unfortunates coming out from under the basilisk's freeze, and stepped away to leave her to it. On the way out the door, he simply had to stop and gloat for a moment.

"So, Professor Lockhart, hoist in your own petard, eh?" he hissed quietly, edging them away from the students waking up in the hospital beds. Bright big blank blue eyes stared at him.

"Am I a Professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness, I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

An opening too good to pass up. "You redefined hopeless, Lockhart. You are a poseur and a fool, with a brain less evolved than a gnat and an ego larger than Hogwarts with no justification whatsoever. You're a pompous windbag whose utter incompetence has recklessly endangered this school and everyone in it. Of all the outcomes from tonight's misadventures, the single most personally satisfying to me is that your thirst for fame and veneration has rebounded upon you, and that you will finally get the comeuppance you so richly deserve."

So much venom in so many words without once stopping for a breath. Snape felt proud of himself. The withering blast must surely have reduced Lockhart to tears. He glared at Lockhart, who was still staring at him, only there was a tad less blankness in the blue eyes. There was, in fact, a light that looked eerily interested. Snape mentally reviewed his tirade. Surely the berk couldn't find any sort of encouragement in the raking-over he'd been given?

"God, what a voice," Lockhart breathed, his entire body quivering.

Snape looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Lockhart quivered harder. Snape glanced over at the children coming awake under Pomfrey's care and made the snap decision that whatever foolery Lockhart was going to get on with now, the children had been exposed to enough. Grabbing Lockhart by the arm, Snape hauled him into the small antechamber Pomfrey used to store her supplies. Pushing Lockhart into the center of the room, Snape closed the door behind them and muttered a locking incantation. Merlin only knew what Lockhart might do next, and if Snape had to subdue him, he neither wanted or needed an audience.

Turning back to confront the lunatic Lockhart, Snape was appalled to find himself being stalked. Giving way reluctantly, watching Lockhart like a hawk, Snape only stopped when his back hit the stone wall, between a bookshelf full of healing spell parchment rolls and several stacks of clean linens. Lockhart kept coming until he was an inch away, then bent his head toward Snape's neck. The instinct to box his ears for him was strong, but Snape hesitated, waiting to see what the lunatic was up to.

With a long, luxuriant sniff, Lockhart purred, "I don't remember you but you seem awfully familiar. And you smell wonderful. Are you certain we didn't have a thing?"

This was _not_ what Snape had expected. "Thing?" he gasped, horrified. "I don't do ... things." At least not of that sort, not for quite some time, and not with Lockhart. He shuddered. Lockhart purred louder.

"Hmmm, perhaps it's time you did."

That was enough. Snape raised his hand, wand at the ready, and opened his mouth to jinx the horny bastard all the way to St. Mungos. Lockhart chose that moment to move faster than he had all year, and with a speed and accuracy at distinct odds with his usual languid motions he pinned Snape to the wall and stuck his tongue down Snape's throat.

The thought struck Snape that he could simply bite down. That would put a quick end to the impertinence. Except ... except ... well, it really _had_ been a long time, and much as he hated to admit Lockhart having any sort of competence, the man _did_ know how to kiss. Not to mention the expeditious way he worked the fastenings on Snape's robes, and the bloody clever way he worked his hand into Snape's pants, and the truly talented way his fingers worked on Snape's prick.

Snape dropped his wand.

Elsewhere on his body, various bits stood to attention. Including such disparate bits as the hair on the back of his neck, his nipples, and the heat-seeking missile Lockhart currently manipulated out of his pants and into his mouth. It was only then that Snape realized the kiss had indeed been broken, because Lockhart was on his knees between Snape's widespread feet, and had Snape's prick down his throat, and was happily slurping and humming away at it.

Snape's mouth was still hanging open, however.

Not only had it been a long time since he'd done ... things ... but he'd never had such things done to him by someone who obviously knew what he was doing and thoroughly enjoyed doing them. The now-hazy thought struck Snape that he was glad he'd spell-locked the door, and he certainly hoped Poppy didn't need any hand towels any time soon, because he was listing over sideways and they were cushioning his fall. Not to mention the one he was stuffing in his mouth to keep the cries he couldn't seem to control from echoing through the entire school and really frightening the children.

"God, yeah, brilliant," Lockhart mumbled as he rubbed the end of Snape's prick all over his face. Snape watched in helplessly aroused shock, over the edge of the towel stuffed in his mouth, as Lockhart worshipped his prick. Another first. "Taste as good as you smell, you do."

Then with another gulp, there it went, all the way down Lockhart's throat clear down to the hairs at his groin, and Snape's eyes rolled up in his head as he came hard enough to nearly give himself a nosebleed. Things ... things were certainly getting interesting.

They got moreso, as stone scraped down his back, rucking up his robes as his knees gave out. His face ended up smushed into the linens as the world rotated, or perhaps he had, then warm hands were on hips magically denuded, and Lockhart's hot breath went round the world to visit the nether port.

Damned good thing the towels were there, Snape thought fuzzily, as he bit into a whole pile of them when Lockhart stuck his tongue up Snape's arse. Yet another first. A litany began in his mind, a dichotomy of 'Oh yes oh yes oh yes' counterbalanced by 'it's Lockhart! It's Lockhart!' until the voices threatened to melt down what few brain cells remaining alive after that explosive orgasm.

His prick, thoughtless flesh that it was, didn't care a whit who it was making all those wonderful sensations cascade through his flesh, and disregarding the mental shrieks, it rose to full hardness with gratifying rapidity. Well, it would have been gratifying if Snape had been in any state to appreciate it. As it was, his entire body felt as if it were one gigantic nerve, and Lockhart stroked it like an expert.

It struck Snape that his knees were cold, and his arms were wrapped around a stack of towels like a babe clinging to its mother, when Lockhart moved again, and tongue was replaced with something much larger, much longer, much hotter and much more insistent. Snape gurgled.

A third first. Wonders never ceased. Things progressed. Sucked and fucked in the supply closet by the ex-wonderboy of the wizard world, now a brain-drained boytoy whose last remaining talent seemed to be the ability to turn a man inside out with his fingers, mouth and good lord above, prick. Snape gave serious thought to sending along a recommendation to the mind-healers that Lockhart be retrained not as a wizard but as a high-class rentboy. God knew he had the innate talent.

A hand stole around his waist and dove down on his again-rampant prick, gently tugging and twisting, and Snape lost the ability to think at all. Hair falling over his eyes, drooling into the towels in which his face was buried, hands clawing at the shelving, hips pumping back and forth in time to Lockhart's rhythm, Snape's intellect dissolved with a whimper and his body happily took everything Lockhart could give him.

An eternity later, nearly smothering in saliva-drenched towels and aching from unaccustomed activity from his knees to his neck, Snape whimpered when Lockhart finally bucked against him and held still. Deep. Pulsing. Streams of lava bathing his guts. It was practically poetic, made moreso by the flex of fingers around his prick that sent him over the edge a second time. Lockhart moaned approval as the spasms from Snape's climax echoed in his arse, and Snape blithered into the towels at the unique sensation of bulk stretching him as he came.

Then Lockhart collapsed, draped over his back, snuffling happily in his ear. Snape, with extreme effort, lifted his face from the pile of wet towels before he suffocated, and blinked through the hair flopped over his face. It took a long time for his brain to come back to life after being pounded through the floor. By the time he could string two syllables together to form a coherent thought, Lockhart had softened and slipped out of his body.

That sensation alone was enough to knock Snape back into semi-catatonia for a moment. Growling internally, he went back to work building the blocks of his brain back into something approaching rationality. Lockhart shifted against him, hands stroking down his chest, catching on his hard nipples, and there went the blocks, scattered all to hell again.

Sighing, Snape closed his eyes and waited for sanity. While he was waiting, Lockhart muttered, "I knew we had a thing!" and started all over again.

It was a very long time before they made it out of the closet.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; 

happy valentine's day!


End file.
